Acceptance
by The-Angst-Chronicles
Summary: Alone, with enemies closing in, Lance thinks about death.


**Hey guys,**

 **I wasn't supposed to do anything else until Worthless was finished but when I went to write down the idea for later the story basically wrote itself. So here it is I guess.**

* * *

Lance thought back to when he and Hunk had gone to find the Yellow Lion. When they had been ambushed by Galra, when they had surely killed Hunk by collapsing the cave on him. He remembered the feeling of helplessness, his lion downed and Galra guns aimed and ready to end his life. He had heard his heart pounding in his ears, tasted the fear around the lump in his throat as he'd stared down his own demise. That had been the first time he known that he was going to die.

It wasn't the last, of course. No, there had been many times since then that Lance was confronted by his own mortality. Mostly it was in battle. Sometimes it wasn't, though, like when the castle had tried to freeze him and then shoot him out of an airlock. Somehow, those times were worse.

He didn't know when it had happened. Somewhere along the way, somewhere between all of those times were he'd known with certainty that this was his time, he'd come to a realisation: He was going to die in space.

It was a fact, as sure as breathing. Just the amount of times he'd brushed death's hand on the way past, only pulled away by sheer luck; Lance wasn't a genius, but he knew basic probability. Luck wouldn't be on his side every single time. He hadn't known when or how, but he knew it would happen. It would only take one time of luck falling the wrong way and he'd be gone.

It was a difficult thing to come to terms with, and it had taken some time. Lance had been terrified, at first. Screaming and crying, railing against it in the privacy of his room. But crying wouldn't change the fact. And the fact was, he was going to die.

When he'd finally accepted it, it was almost a relief. Lance didn't want to die, far from it. He wanted so desperately to live, to get back to all the things that he had left to do and all the people that waited for him. But that wasn't meant to be, and there wasn't anything that he could do about it.

So he'd made a promise to himself. The one thing he could do. That when the time came, when his number was up, he would not drag anybody else down with him. Lance thought, sometimes, that maybe they would die too. They were fighting a war after all. Chances were high. But it wasn't going to be because of him, because he couldn't accept his inevitable end.

With a sigh he let his head fall back soundlessly against the wall behind him, dropping his hand away from his helmet comm. This was the time, wasn't it? He was going to die here, cowering in a closet on a Galra ship. Pinned down by innumerable enemies, bayard broken and useless at his side. It was only a matter of time before they found him. Probably enough that he could call for help. Enough that the team could get there.

But… there were so many soldiers out there. And they had some strange new guns Lance hadn't seen before. His team might be able to get him out. But at what cost? A teammate might buy Lance another day with their life, but he was going to die soon anyway. Another moment of luck failing him, and they would have died for nothing. He wasn't going to drag anyone down with him.

So he didn't call. Instead, he rested against the wall behind him, the wound in his side slowly seeping blood. He smiled as he listened to the rest of the team over the comms. It sounded like things were going well. He was glad.

It would probably hurt them when the biosystems in his suit showed his death. Despite everything, he liked to think that he had made a positive impression on his team. With time, though, they'd get past it. He was sure of that. He only hoped that the more rational among them could convince the others not to try and retrieve his body when they realised he was gone. They couldn't die for something dumb like that.

No. He had to stop worrying. They wouldn't do it. He had to believe that. Allura wouldn't risk Voltron. Pidge… Pidge would try to rescue him if she knew of his current predicament, but surely she'd see that risking their lives for his dead body would be useless. Between them, he was sure that they'd be able to convince the other two.

It was unexpectedly bitter, knowing that they wouldn't be able to retrieve his body. He'd always assumed, somehow, that when he finally kicked it they would at least have a body to return to his family. Maybe it was better this way. Easier. He didn't know. He supposed it didn't matter anymore. It was out of his hands.

Dying was both easier and harder than he'd expected. In the many hours that he'd spent thinking about his upcoming death, he'd imagined that maybe he'd strain against it. That he'd beg and cry and scream in the face of his demise. He had, sometimes, when he'd thought one of his other brushes with death was the end. Not every time. He supposed it depended on the situation.

The real thing was almost peaceful, in a way. Lying there against the wall with blood sluggishly pumping from his side, listening to his best friends through his helmet while the Galra drew steadily closer. It was like the ending of a sad story, the silent wish that there was another page overwhelmed by the feeling of ' _this is where it has to end._ '

It was also lonely. Not having any words of comfort that things would be okay, that he was going to a better place. He'd always wanted to die surrounded by his friends and family, love being the last thing he felt. Listening to them talking now, so far away from him and not knowing what was happening, was harder than he'd ever imagined.

He'd thought that he'd at least have Blue's steady, reassuring presence in the back of his mind as he went. But Blue was gone; he was with Red now. And he and Red got along, it just… wasn't the same. He couldn't feel Red, not unless he was in his cockpit. And even then, the depth was so much less.

He missed Blue. Red missed Keith. They got along, but they weren't meant for each other. He supposed that if any good came of this, it was that Red would get Keith back. If Keith came back. Lance didn't doubt that he would.

He thought back to Keith's words that day. _Things will work themselves out_. And so they had. Not the way he'd wanted, but certainly in the way he'd expected. The way he'd known was a long time coming. It was okay. He was ready. Lance closed his eyes and waited.


End file.
